Strawberry Scents
by Morbid Muse
Summary: Jonathon remembers his past relationship with Joyce in Mexico.


Author: Amanda  
  
E-mail: AmandaB9@aol.com  
  
Title: Strawberry Scents  
  
Rated: R  
  
Shipper: Joyce/Jonathon (over 18, don't worry)  
  
Spoilers/Timeline: After 6th Season finale  
  
Disclaimer: I, sadly, don't own them - yet! Also, I am not in any way insulting Mexico or prostitutes or Mexican prostitutes .  
  
Summary: Jonathon remembers his past relationship with Joyce in Mexico.  
  
Warning: Mention of het sexual intercourse (not underage) and much more mature and darker Jonathon than portrayed on the show.  
  
Feedback: Yes please!  
  
  
  
Jonathon's POV:  
  
She always smelt like strawberries.  
  
Fresh, wild strawberries. The scent would cling to her wherever she went.  
  
It was something you could always count on about her. Her small smiles, wide view on things, wide range of knowledge, and strawberry scents.  
  
The hooker sitting next to me smells of some strawberry perfume. However hers is overdone' it is more like you will drown in it opposed to being faint and mysterious. The smell shouldn't repulse you, it should make you want to rip off the girl's clothes and see if she tastes like strawberries too.  
  
Joyce did.  
  
I'm still not sure how, exactly, that is. I remember asking once, only to be laughed at. No the mocking, condescending type of laugh I was used to hearing form my peers though.  
  
"!Hola! ?Como esta?" the hooker is saying in her native tongue.  
  
Her black hair is long and straight. Not blonde and curly, the way I prefer. She is wearing black, tight leather. Not looking comfortable or naturally beautiful, the way I liked most about Joyce.  
  
"I'm not interested," I say in a monotone voice, eyes never leaving my fruity alcoholic drink.  
  
Her back straights up stiffly, giving away the information that she at least understands English, while Andrew is staring at me like I'm nuts from my other side.  
  
"I am!" he shouts, jumping up and going around to the stool next to her.  
  
I think about warning him that we've got no more money and that prostitutes in Mexico won't exactly let him have fun for free but stop myself. We've each got twenty-bucks left in our pockets after hitch-hiking. Paying for the drinks will only make it less, but he deserves to have some fun. Everyone should have fun in Mexico. I know I did.  
  
We made love for the first time in Mexico. It was my first ever experience with sex and I needed someone tender and gentle. Someone just like her.  
  
Joyce had somehow managed to get away from Sunnydale. I think she said something about telling her kids she was with work and telling work she was with her kids. It was a lot easier for me. My parents knew I lived on the dorm so thought nothing of me not visiting for a week; although I did have to call so they wouldn't worry. After the accident in the bell tower they have been - had been - way over protective.  
  
Our relationship, strange as it was, actually made sense. Or, at the very least, by Sunnydale standards. She always felt left out. She felt left out of a normal life because of her daughter but left out of the supernatural life because of her age and lack of abnormal qualities. And I've just always been left out period.  
  
Mexico was perfect. We could be together - and together - with no one recognizing us. No fear of the slayer finding out and attempting to murder me. And let's face facts, if the slayer attempted to kill me, odds are that she'd succeed.  
  
So we rented out a cheap motel similar to the one Andrew and I are staying in tonight and made the most of our vacation. Of the ocean and freedom. Of the sometime insufferable heat, while adding to it with our bodies. It was without a doubt the best time of my life.  
  
Unfortunately, everything has to end.  
  
We had anticipated it ending with being found out. It hadn't - it was worse. Joyce got sick.  
  
When she was - or so I thought at the time - in "recovery", it was difficult for us. Understatement. It was almost impossible for us.  
  
I, obviously, couldn't go to her house. But she couldn't just leave the house while everyone watched her. We tried the old 'seeing the doctor' excuse but Buffy or Dawn would always insist on coming.  
  
Joyce finally decided she couldn't stand it and told them the truth. Well, sort of.  
  
She told them she had a date, which allowed her to dress up and have some privacy. It was just what we always wanted. Now I could even send her flowers for the first time in our relationship.  
  
Why did everything have to fall apart right when it seemed like it was going so good?  
  
I found out about her death from Andrew. He and Warren had already teamed together at the time and sought after me for my magic bone. Back then we just hung out as friends with abilities and a common interest in movies.  
  
Warren had always been the most serious about it though. Even then. He had mentioned the Slayer being a huge pain for him. Andrew had said that may have been true in the past, but since her mother's death she hadn't been the same.  
  
I pumped Andrew for details before rushing out of there. They shared a confused look but I think they knew something in the back of their minds. Or maybe it was just a coincident that the next time I saw them they played "Misses Robinson" on the stereo. On repeat. For five days.  
  
I couldn't help falling quickly and naturally back into my dork role after her death. It really shook me, ya know?  
  
Andrew and Warren were my only friends. Their goals became my goals. Their plans became my plans. Their target, the daughter of the women I'll always love, became my target. But I could never kill the love of my love. That is why I had to save her when Warren was super strong with the help of the spheres.  
  
When Andrew and I stood above Buffy and Dawn while Willow was trying to kill everyone, I snapped. I got worried. Remembered Andrew's offer of Mexico and the great time I'd had there in the past. I accepted Andrew's offer and took off.  
  
Now I regret it. Everything I do or see reminds me of her. Warren and Andrew's mission had taken my mind off of this.  
  
The fan above me spins in the same way Joyce had liked about the fan in our motel with the same lack of effect. The people here don't care one way or another about me here, like they didn't care to ask questions about the age difference of Joyce and myself.  
  
The woman next to me smells like strawberry scents and all I can think about is Joyce.  
  
Perfect Joyce who I'll never be able to see again.  
  
  
  
=(Amanda(= 


End file.
